


please come back to me

by electaefy



Series: inversion and subversion [1]
Category: Produce 101 (TV), Wanna One (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, and forced sophisticated words that are entirely unnecessary, filled with bullshit and vague situations, i present you shitty baker jihoon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-11
Updated: 2017-11-11
Packaged: 2019-02-01 01:56:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12694683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/electaefy/pseuds/electaefy
Summary: Woojin clicks his tongue purposefully. There’s an impending silence that falls upon them, but Jihoon doesn’t waste any effort to break it. It’s comfortable and familiar—which impeccably describes the relationship they’ve been maintaining for the past 6 years—the kind of rare silence only few can share.





	please come back to me

**Author's Note:**

> title taken from [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HBDoyG6iYNA) song i hold dear to my heart (and repeatedly listened to as i breathed life into this at ass o'clock in the morning while it rained outside). special thanks to my best friend who doesn’t even read fics for proofreading this. warning: [park](http://cfile23.uf.tistory.com/image/99EC193359D12B960A8EDF) [jihoon](http://cfile10.uf.tistory.com/original/999A2A3359FCC50328EBBD)

“Hi,” Jihoon says timidly. There’s rustling, a few seconds of hissing, then a grunt. “Woojin?”  
  
Another grunt.  
  
Jihoon smiles. “I need to ask you something of absolute importance.”  
  
“Park Jihoon,” Woojin growls, voice thick with sleep and irritation, “what could be of absolute importance at a quarter before four in the goddamn morning?“  
  
”Please don’t get mad,” Jihoon pleads.  
  
“I give you three seconds to elaborate. One, two—“  
  
“What were the main ingredients of that frugal and easy-peasy pancakes recipe you always baked?” Jihoon immediately prepares a pan, a spatula and butter. He’s fully aware that this mission demands more kitchen utensils, but he doesn’t entertain that thought for long once he hears Woojin heave a sigh over the line.  
  
“You're kidding, right?" Woojin doesn't sound enraged by the sudden disturbance of his sleep anymore, just worn out.  
  
"I'm sorry," Jihoon responds, sounding the least bit remorseful. "I couldn't sleep, then it started raining, so I became somewhat restless. I started craving for pancakes?" He rambles, as if that justifies calling Woojin in the middle of night for the most simple recipe instead of looking it up on Google.  
  
"One cup of flour, one cup of milk and one egg." Woojin says without missing a beat.  
  
“One cup of flour, one cup of mi— I’m putting you on loudspeaker, let me just,” Jihoon opens one cabinet after another in search of whiskers and bowls, all while muttering ‘one cup of flour, one cup of milk and one egg’ under his breath.  
  
“Don’t forget to check whether the milk’s outdated or not,” Woojin warns knowingly.  
  
“Okay, mom.”  
  
“I presume you don’t own any whiskers, so ol’ pal fork will do the deed.”  
  
“How did you know?” Jihoon gasps. Then, “Oh my god, did you set up a secret surveillance camera in my university flat?” He whispers conspiratorially.  
  
“Don’t be ridiculous.”  
  
“It’s plausible!”  
  
“Please don’t set the flat or yourself on fire,” Woojin begs weakly.  
  
“Mmm, I won’t,” Jihoon asserts.  
  
He inevitably fumbles and makes a mess out of the kitchen; raw egg just barely lands inside the bowl, streaks of flour decorate every corner of his face, favorite white tee and kitchen countertop. Things only spiral down the moment he mixes the batter with a fork, owing to the fact that it’d rather splatter—on the floor, his hair, everywhere—rather than stay inside the bowl.  
  
“Stop,” Woojin deadpans. “Stop screaming. People are sleeping, jackass.”  
  
“I can’t feel my arm anymore,” Jihoon bemoans. “Pull the trigger, Piglet.”  
  
“Weak.”  
  
That remark sends Jihoon into a mixing hysteria which results in threatening declarations on Woojin’s part, ranging from “I’m hanging up if you don’t be quiet” to “Your flatmates will kill you” or even “The students next door ought to file a complaint and you’ll be exiled from your own flat, idiot!”  
  
What Woojin fails to perceive is the lack of flatmates roaming around Jihoon’s flat.  
  
“It is done.”  
  
“Congratulations. Now you’ll finally move onto the baking part of the process. Can we pray together before you start?”  
  
“How do you turn this thing on,” Jihoon mumbles to himself, gingerly ignoring Woojin’s jab. “The— what the fuck.”  
  
“Are you seriously having difficulties with turning on the oven? You’ve been living in there for a month and you can’t turn on the damn oven?” Woojin interjects incredulously. “Do not answer. Those were rhetorical questions, because any normal functioning adult is capable of turning on ovens.”  
  
“I either order takeout or eat ramyeon with scrambled eggs by the sidewalk in front of the nearest 24-hour convenience store.”  
  
“Jihoon,” Woojin begins, tone shifting into something more mellow and tender, the beginning of a lecture at the tip of his tongue. “Your mom won’t be very happy to know this.”  
  
“She won’t find out. Don’t tell her or you’re dead to me,” Jihoon threatens. He’s been gripping the spatula and staring at the unmelted butter for too long, no real progress being made in the baking area. ”Baking pancakes is such a challenge,” he whimpers a second later.  
  
Woojin makes a noise of exasperation. “So you feed yourself absolute garbage every single day,” he frets.  
  
“Don’t be a fusspot. I can take care of myself just fine. However, how dare you impose such vulgar insult on Miss Shin?”  
  
“What. Who’s Miss Shin?”  
  
“Miss Shin Ramyeon.”  
  
“Will you be serious and make an effort to turn the oven on? I’m on the verge of falling asleep to your endless bullshit, but as a concerned citizen, I feel obligated to stay on the line for safety measures,” Woojin says as Jihoon breaks into a fit of chuckles. “Wha— why are you laughing? I’m scared.”  
  
“I have conquered the oven!” Jihoon cheers triumphantly.  
  
“Wow, it really took 5 entire minutes for you to turn on the oven and it isn’t even the most difficult step out of the whole process?” Woojin points out. “Isn’t this somewhat groundbreaking? Guinness book of world records says hi.”  
  
“Shut up or face death.”  
  
“Stop threatening to kill the only person who’ll stay awake at the crack of dawn to hear you utter nonsense and make a complete fool out of yourself.”  
  
“Your existence is an incentive that God has kindly bestowed upon me,” Jihoon exclaims with feelings. “Unrelated, but is it normal for butter to burn?”  
  
Woojin sputters. “Quickly pour a ladle of pancake batter onto the pan, stupid.”  
  
“ _You’re_ stupid, stupid!” Jihoon retaliates, but does as told. The unfortunate lack of ladle in the kitchen has him gripping at the bottom of the bowl to pour the right amount of batter onto the pan. Smoke hits him square in the face not long after, causing tears to well up in his eyes. “I’m never baking pancakes ever again,” he grumbles.  
  
“Gordon Ramsay would be petrified if he saw you right now. I don’t even see you, yet I feel quite uncomfortable.”  
  
“Both you and Gordon Ramsay can only dream of seeing how sexy I look when I bake.”    
  
“That’s disgusting?”  
  
Falling back into routine with Woojin is easy; just one phone call is enough to fizzle out all the tension that has cumulated between them in the past few weeks.  
  
Jihoon decides not to ponder on the fleeting thought for too long, focusing on not burning the pancakes but unavoidably doing the exact opposite. Once he’s cleared the mission, there’s a stack of dark bronze pancakes with a few exceptions on a plate by the mini kitchen island.  
  
“How’s the taste?” Woojin asks too cheerily for someone who had been woken up by the sheer force of cravings.  
  
“Bad,” Jihoon grouses, defeated. He expects Woojin to mock him and laugh in his face—or more specifically, over the phone—but Woojin exceeds his expectations with a soft, lively giggle that travels across oceans and reverberates in his mind even after Woojin quiets down. “Hey,” he calls out.  
  
“Hm?”  
  
“It pains me to utter these words, but thank you.”  
  
“What? I’m having a hard time hearing you, there’s static on the line.”  
  
“Oh my god, you’re so annoying,” Jihoon groans. “I’m not repeating myself.”  
  
Woojin clicks his tongue purposefully. There’s an impending silence that falls upon them, but Jihoon doesn’t waste any effort to break it. It’s comfortable and familiar—which impeccably describes the relationship they’ve been maintaining for the past 6 years—the kind of rare silence only few can share.  
  
Halfway through cutting and devouring pieces of pancakes, a noise that can only be identified as Woojin’s snore pierces through the silence like a knife. It’s _so_ Woojin to somehow fall asleep to the sound of fork clattering and violent coughing caused by inedible burnt pancakes, that Jihoon faceplants into the table to contain his laughter.  
  
“Stupid,” Jihoon whispers into the table quietly, affectionately and so in love.

**Author's Note:**

> loosely based on [this](http://2wentysixletters.tumblr.com/post/142465017353/and-i-call-you-up-at-2am-and-say-look-i-know-its). if you’re wondering wtf is going on here then so am i lmao. q’s? drop a comment or find me on [twt](https://twitter.com/sichengg) and i’ll see if i have an answer ready for you ;-)


End file.
